


Don’t Leave, Don’t Come Back

by EmmaofTarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Betrayal, Bickering, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers to Enemies, F/M, Fighting, First Time, Heavy Angst, Light Smut, Swordfighting, goading, oathkeeper, s08 ep04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 12:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18895024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaofTarth/pseuds/EmmaofTarth
Summary: “Unable to look up at the looming woman’s scarred and tearful face, unable to tell anything other than lies, reverting back to the despicable coward he had been as the Mad King’s Hand, as Robert Baratheon’s Hand, as his father’s son. The things we do for love, he had thought, his reversion conclusive in his almost cyclical, prophetic chant of those six words.”Jaime leaves Brienne in attempt to protect her from himself. Jaime is the stupidest Lannister after all.





	1. Ugliest Girl Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Break ups SUCK

When had she last cried like that? Brienne stood in the cold air for a while longer and thought of her loss. Renly Baratheon. That was the last time she had cried, but not like that, never like that. From all the battering and bruising Brienne had received in her life, nothing had lacerated her skin so deeply as this wound to her heart. She wished to wallow in her self-pity and simultaneously wished to ride after him and tackle Jaime Fucking Lannister, the Kingslayer, off of his horse and to the ground. From there she does not know whether she would kiss him or kill him, but both would seem a suffice reaction. Brienne felt no shame in her emotions, she had cried wet tears that froze on her face immediately and with an almost regiment, knightly stance she saw the current reigning Queen’s guard off on his self- induced mission. Sansa Stark, being her own little bird, watched as the strongest woman she ever knew appeared strong even in betrayal, even in grief. Unknowing of Sansa’s spying, Brienne lifted her head and her hand in a motionless wave that Jaime and Brienne had shared too many times to count. Catching herself in her sentiment, Brienne swiftly lowered her waving right hand with her left one and stoked back to her too hot room. As she walked, she trailed the ashy snow to her room on the tails of her robes. Brienne since knowing Jaime, truly knowing him, had never thought him hateful. Though the mockery he had just shown her mirrored the hate he had claimed for himself, she could not shake the feeling that he had lied. Silly little girl, she thought to herself, she had always hoped to one day have a companion. The companionship did not even need to be a love filled one, but one of friendship and above all loyalty. She had found that in many since becoming Renly’s guard, but they all left once she had served them sufficiently and often once they found a love. Since meeting Jaime she had thought ... No, a foolish thought, the Golden Lion had been toying with her since the beginning. As he left had she imagined it or had his shoulders shaken as he sniggered like those boys so many years before? Would he tell his Imp brother and his beautiful, golden Queen sister that he had fucked Brienne the Beauty? Ruined her as a maid and made way back to his incestuous relations like he had always planned to do. She realised, once again, that she was the ugliest girl alive.


	2. A Rodent in Lion’s Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay.”

Jaime turned out of sight of Winterfell’s grand gates, crumpled forward in to the warm nape of his horse, and wept. The brown fur against his face tarrying with the wetness of his tears. He hadn’t been able to look at her but her strong hands had forced his face. “Stay.” He’d had to resist her words. Resist her. Staying in the too hot room, beneath the layers of furs, beneath the lumbering, bulky body of the woman who had begged him to stay was not the choice he could make - even if wanted. Still he had hoped to scuttle in to the night without her knowledge like a rat, there was no lion present now, no pride or royalty in his stature nothing but a rodent in Lion’s clothing. Hear me roar was diminished to an unheard squeak. He had ruined her. Although a knight, she had been an unwed maiden and he had taken her maidenhead, and continued to fuck her to prove the maiden gone and the virginity sullied. Tywin Lannister, his cruel natured father’s, words rang in his ear and he wondered had he believed them then and did he believe them now?: “every lord has need of a beast from time to time.” Was Jaime as hateful as he had just pronounced himself to be? Pod had told of the jolly dance with Renly but also whispered concern of Brienne’s view of herself: “a great lumbering beast.” He knew now, in the eyes of Brienne, Jaime had tamed the beast and led it to the slaughter. Living to the Lannister name he had destroyed everything in his path, leaving no remnants of the ruin, and always diligently returned to the family. The littering of his past crimes in order to break the Lady Knight’s heart a necessary sacrifice for his swift exit. Brienne needed no one and so he left her with such. Yet, to his surprise, she had begged, pleaded and cried. Their departures had always been sullen with sad eyes and passing words - often a jape at her expense thrown in for good measure. Not this time. She was not broken, still displaying strength even in her fervent begging and tear-stricken face, it was instead Jaime who was broken. Unable to look up at the looming woman’s scarred and tearful face, unable to tell anything other than lies, reverting back to the despicable coward he had been as the Mad King’s Hand, as Robert Baratheon’s Hand, as his father’s son. The things we do for love, he had thought, his reversion conclusive in his almost cyclical, prophetic chant of those six words.


	3. A Wolf Judges a Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Sansa have a tense conversation about the Kingslayer.

A knock on her door forced a gust of breath to exhale from Brienne’s body, two large strides and she swung the unbolted door in naive hope. Sansa stood fist still frozen in her chapping. Brienne knotted her robe tighter, stood with a practised stoicism and addressed her red headed noblewoman.  
“Lady Sansa, to what do I owe the pleasure of your council in such the dead of night?” Brienne, no longer a woman scorned but a knight of her lady, stepped aside to let Sansa in, her straight back against the stone wall despite the chill it brought to her skin. Expecting a hoard of people to follow suit, Brienne was puzzled in her Lady’s solo visit at such an early hour.  
“Lad- Ser Brienne, this is a personal matter no need to stand with the draft come sit.” Brienne closed the door and stiffly planted herself aside Sansa on the edge of her bed.  
“Just Brienne is fine m’lady.” A bitterness seeped in her tone but not obvious and never directed at the noblewoman she had sworn to protect.  
“I am aware of your relations with the Kingslayer,” she let that sit in the air but Brienne was no fool and knew the Lady of Winterfell was well informed. “I am also aware he has gone. Assumedly in order to aid his sister’s arms, if that is the case, I need you to retrieve the traitor and execute him under the command of Lady Sansa of Winterfell.” Sansa rose from the bed, the veiling of “personal affairs” to allow Brienne her natural, unrestrained reaction had not worked for she only nodded in response. The only irregularity was that her head hung low, avoiding Sansa’s gaze.   
“You are better than him,” Sansa remarked as she approached the door.  
“To what right does you the wolf judge the lion?” Brienne in immediate response snapped venomously. Her face shocked by her own words froze in embarrassment and fear of her lady’s anger. Yet it was only a sad smile that plastered Sansa’s face and she silently departed.


	4. Dornish Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUTTY SMUT SMUT.  
> Brienne’s first time in s08 ep04.

Riding steadfast Jaime drowned his thoughts with the rhythmic gallop of his horse’s hooves against the dirt road. He hadn’t covered his tracks in a bizarre hope that even after everything said Brienne would follow. How he yearned for the too short month in Winterfell where he had buried his face in Brienne’s cunt and breathed in her warmth. The passion between the two was more intense than Jaime had ever imagined it. He remembered on that perfect first night that he had had to roll forward on his tip toes in their zealous kiss, to reach as high as his body would allow, but still not enough to match Brienne’s colossal height. He remembered her hands clenching in surprise of the kiss before being brought quickly to his face, the back of his head and in his blonde hair. Brienne’s body had changed from Harrenhal having seen many battles since but yet still porcelain and soft, different from his older, weathered skin. They had collapsed to the bed, melting in the heat of the moment, the sweaty, feverish air tempered not by their quick desperate movements. Brienne’s strong stable hands had began to stumble in their drunkenness and rush as she pulled at his breeches drawstrings. Fuelled with Dornish wine and all else that had filled his and her cups they consumed one another. The Dornish courage much needed for Jaime or Brienne to muster any sort of confrontation of their feelings. A cold touch of his golden hand to her side pulled Brienne out of their amalgamation of limbs and had made her yelp in shock. He recoiled in shame, ready for the tongue lashing he’d received from Cersei ever since having a stump in place of a hand, but Brienne had only smiled softly at the reminder of his sacrifice for her honour. Pausing in their rush to gently slacken the buckles of the hand, toss it aside in a loud clash, and massage the stump aching from holding the gold. He’d saved her pure untarnished sex to now take it for himself.  
“Gods, you are beautiful Brienne.” It was Jaime’s turn to admire her and though still relaxed her body tensed.  
“Piss off,” she had repeated for the second time that night, avoiding his eyes in refusal of his words. Instead he raised his face to hers, foreheads pressed together, “I mean it.” There was genuine sincerity in his eyes that forced her to give a slow nod in acknowledgement and from there she lurched forward in a passioned kiss - like their first. Jaime’s shoulder blades were soon writhing with his thrusts, flexing in his overexertion, his rolling hips matching his shoulders enthusiasm. Grunts and moans flooded out by the pounding of the wooden bed posts against the stone wall, causing stone dust to fall from the wall’s rough bricks and snow onto their naked bodies. After a quick, energetic fuck they both lay on their backs and clawed for the air to return to their lungs. Both had been holding their breath the entire time. Their sexual tension had not been relieved in one drunken encounter but had instead further fuelled their desires. Needing more and more of one another for weeks. A nightly ritual often four or more times, his legs significantly strengthened in his mountain climbing. The uncontrollable desire never wavered in their month together. Alack Jaime had ruined it. Their sanctuary, their home wrapped in animal furs, left behind for which he would surely not live to return to. With Cersei alive, he knew he could never be free. He knew it was an addiction, unbreakable at the knowledge that there was breath still in her lungs. He would make sure that that was no longer the case.


	5. Protect Pod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pod is innocent and shall remain so until the end of time.

Brienne gathered the necessities in her long journey to King’s Landing. Stoneyheart she lifted Oathkeeper, even now unwilling to use anything other than him.  
“No”  
“But m’lady ...” Pod trailed off realising his mistake in his addressing of her.  
“No, Pod, I don’t need a squire in this pursuit. You’d just slow me down.” She snapped but then realising the silence hanging in the air and look of hurt on his face she added “besides I need someone here for Lady Sansa. Who more would I trust than my faithful squire?” The shadow of a smile flashed across her face in reassurance before she turned to continue packing. Brienne knew Jaime would not come willingly and having had him as a captor before she knew of his incessant taunting, cruel tongue-lashings, and his unpredictable attempts at escape. Pod was a good boy and was yet to experience a betrayal from someone he trusts. He and Jaime fought well and fought together in the war against the dead, a fellowship only created through violence, and Brienne wanted Pod to remember their friendship and not the brutal humiliation to come. Brienne, if being honest, did not crave the humiliation either. The chorus of words like “wench,” “beast” ... “ugly” stung where they didn’t before - “beautiful” relentlessly sticking in her mind. A lie like the entirety of their time in Winterfell. Protecting Podrick was the only thing she felt in control of when travelling out the gates of Winterfell towards her enemy, her friend, and her lover - how could one man mean so many things? And undoubtedly hurt her in every role.


	6. Well Fuck Me, it’s a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brienne with her visceral screams protected the very man she intended to execute.”

Brienne would not be hindered by vulnerability in their final meeting. She galloped down the familiar paths leading away from the North following Jaime’s tracks. Jaime was never one for stealth, his golden mane in his youth and later his golden hand quickly revealing his identity.   
“Did you never think to take that off?” Brienne had asked in the darkness of their chambers. Jaime had rode from King’s Landing to Winterfell and was shockingly never stopped despite the lifetime amount of gold strapped to his weak wrist.   
“They say I am the stupidest Lannister,” he had chuckled though his eyes revealed hurt. She grabbed his stump with strong hands, rolled over in their furs to look him dead in the eye.   
“You are not stupid, my knight” with all the sincerity she could evoke, for she meant every word. Pushing the fresh feelings out of her mind she ventured on. She saw his horse before she saw him, the saddle lay empty on the horse’s back and uncharacteristically the mare was not tied up. The horses of Winterfell were known for their loyalty and this one was no exception - a noble steed waiting her rider’s awakening. Brienne proceeded with caution, her instincts telling her that something was amiss, Jaime lying in a lump not even a meter from his mare. Approaching with a steady trot, Brienne was suddenly surrounded, from the darkness of the bushes and shrouded trees, by a gang of thieves. Stopping her horse to a lazy halt she feigned disinterest despite the rising panic in her chest of the state they may have left Jaime in.   
“Let me pass” she commanded with an authoritative tone.   
“Well fuck me, it’s a woman” the presumed leader hollered to the other men. “What’s your name, wench?” He directed the ill mannered question to her and she winced at the familiar name-calling she expected only from the Kingslayer.   
“Ser Brienne of Tarth, now move aside while I attend to your victim of petty theft and brutality.”  
“Like fuck I will. He submitted like a woman but y’see ser there’s no cunt on him. I’m sure there’s a cunt somewhere beneath that man’s armour of yours though,” licking his lips the brute approached Brienne’s horse. “I bet no one’s been down to the pools of Tarth before.” Where Brienne would have blushed before she only raised her chin haughtily, the untruth of the comment granting her a power of knowledge over the provoker.  
“I have” Jaime croaked from his crumpled body, shakily lifting himself from the dirt. The men laughed and wheezed, cradling their stomachs and wiping faux tears from their eyes.   
“The cripple and the beast what a perfect pairing! Both so fucking ugly!” The leader snorted while the others, still laughing, held more caution in their stance. “I’m afraid I’ve got two working hands m’lady but I can ram you with this if m’lady so wishes,” the goader presented Jaime’s golden hand throwing it her horse’s hooves and bowed mockingly. Rage stirred in the pit of her stomach. Like a bear provoked she slapped the hind of her horse and spurred on to trample the fiend before her. Brienne with her visceral screams protected the very man she intended to execute. Slicing the throats of the petty thieves, hungry and desperate from Winter, understandably even rightfully robbing a helpless crippled man and his horse. Still, Brienne killed them with no mercy. The men had run and plead and as they did but she smote them from high up on her horse.


End file.
